


Sparks

by Measured_Words



Category: Ringo - Lorne Greene (Song)
Genre: Bandits & Outlaws, Character Death Fix, Gunshot Wounds, M/M, Reunions, Starting Over, Western, amateur surgery, gunfights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 11:29:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1777447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured_Words/pseuds/Measured_Words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ringo: A spark of good, a spark of life, and a spark of somethin' else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [morganstern](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganstern/gifts).



> Thanks to my excellent betas, N---- and A-------!

Sparks

"We're even, friend," says Ringo.

I stand in his way, and cast a look back over my shoulder.

"There's a posse out there. You can't get 'em all, no matter how fast your draw. Might get a few, but the rest'll fill you full o' lead."

His gaze follows mine. His smile doesn’t falter but I can see other things going on in his head.

"Your posse," he points out. He still has his gun drawn, and it's still pointed at me. I ain't afraid, though.

"Someone's got to put a stop to this."

"That why you came in here, friend? Put right your wrong?"

There's a story I never had, about who put that first bullet in Ringo's chest – in his back, even. There's some kind of hurt there I could never heal. Pain can drive a man to drastic measures, can keep him going long after he should have fallen. I wonder again about Ringo, and all the evil he did to the world, and I shake my head. 

Ringo reaches a hand up, the one without the gun, and he puts it on my shoulder. "Ain't no one gonna put a stop to this but me."

He's still smiling when he shoves me aside. He gets off a few shots – more'n most would've, he really is that fast – but they all go wild, and it’s the bark of other pistols that take the day. If he'd've come with me, we'd've had to hang him, and this is a better end, I think.

I step out after it's done. The boys are all cheering 'til they see my face.

"Come on, Sheriff," one of 'em yells – that's Billy Hart, the barber – "We done good here."

It don't feel too good to me, but I nod as I crouch over the body, thinking back to that first day I met Ringo, and what must've kept him alive until I happened across him. Hate, I guess, and I wonder if he ever had his reckoning. He's got a few more holes in him this time. But I'm here now, and I don't want to let him go. "You all go on, then," I say. "I'll take care of the body."

I sling him over the back of my horse, and I think he's still breathing, against all odds. Billy's all we got for a surgeon in this town, so looks like it's got to be my knife again, too. I take him back to my place, just on the other side of the jail. I've got a table, all covered in papers – the part of the job they don't tell you about before you take the star. I push that all aside, and lay Ringo out.

One of the shots is to the shoulder – that's not so bad. But one's to the lung, and one's to the gut, and either one could do him in. Still, I seen worse, and I brought him back from worse before. It’s a hard few hours behind locked doors with whiskey and thread, and he's pale as death at the other end, but breathing.

I have to leave him then, to arrange the rest – the coffin maker doesn't ask any questions; the undertaker is another matter. Fortunately a few bottles of whiskey can buy a lot in a town like this. I let them all think he was dead. I let them all think I was my doing, that I'd broken him. I let them bury a box of dust and give it his name. And then I hang up my guns, and I let them think what they like about that. 

I never wanted to leave a town so badly in my life, but I have to wait 'til my patient is in the clear. It takes a few days for him to even come 'round, and there isn't much I can do for him save pour some broth down his throat, or some whiskey, and change out the dressings.

The first time he wakes, he opens his eyes just a little. I can see the pain in his face, give him a little whiskey for it, for all it'll help. He takes my hand, and I hold it a while, 'til he passes out again. The second time he comes 'round, he has a few more words then.

"Ringo's dead," he says.

"Dead and buried," is what I say back, and he nods and takes my hand again. I know things'll be alright then, in a manner of speaking. As he gets better, he tells me why he'd come here, though of course I've already worked it out. He knew I'd help him put Ringo to rest, one way or another. I might of wished it could've been less bloody, but it seems fitting in a way, given how we met. And maybe he just needed some of that bad blood purged, to really let go of the Hell he'd been makin' of his life.

Soon as he can sit a horse, we make our escape. I've put down some roots in that town, but after the shooting, after the joy I seen in all their faces, it just don't feel the same. I make up a story about a sister who needs me back out east. The sister's real enough, but she's found herself a better man than me to look to her needs. We leave at night, headed west, out further into the frontier where no one'll bother a couple a men makin' their way together. 

We make just one stop on our way out of town. We each have our own business up at the graveyard, sayin' our farewells. I give him plenty of space for it. I figure if he wants to tell me how he fell into that dark life, or why he turned from it, we'll have plenty of chances. There's no going our separate ways this time, and we both know it.

Before we leave, I set my star on the stone. I figured that part of my life is over just as sure as his is. Though I don't have a name or terrible deeds to bury, I want to leave it behind so we can get a proper fresh start, together.


End file.
